


Not Even The Sun

by daenyara



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: After the battle, F/M, Fluff, Game of Thrones Spoilers, Idiots in Love, Post-Battle of Winterfell, Spoilers, mending wounds, soft jaime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 17:24:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18706936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daenyara/pseuds/daenyara
Summary: Jaime helps Brienne with her wounds after the Battle of Winterfell





	Not Even The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Game Of Thrones S8E03 spoilers!

“ _Bloody_  ridiculous!” snaps Brienne, wincing in pain as soon as she moves her shoulder.

Her armour is covered in dirt and dried blood. Most of it is hers. She’s hurt. One of the wights managed to hit her arm, and it burns like hell. The wound needs cleaning, she knows that, but she can’t seem to take the  _damn_  straps off.

She should probably get Podrick to help her, but he needs to rest.  After all, he deserves it. He did well, on the battlefield. Brienne can’t help but feel proud. What she has taught him, is part of the reason why he survived the army of the dead. The corner of her lips quirk up at the thought, and she’s glad that the dim light of the room is hiding her face.

Brienne stays there, resting her head against the cold stone wall, too tired to listen to the pain. Too tired to notice that Jaime is standing next to the doorframe. He’s been there for a whole minute, observing her in silence and smirking at her obstinacy.

“Perhaps you need some help with those,” he chuckles, and Brienne tenses up at the sudden intrusion, just before noticing who has just spoken and relaxing again.

“Ser Jaime.”

He nods at her. “Ser Brienne.” Jaime crosses the room in a few strides,  quickly setting aside his sword, and he kneels at her side. “May I?”

He’s gesturing at her arm, and Brienne is about to tell him that  _no, she doesn’t need help_. But she’s tired, and he’s  _Jaime_. So she lets him take care of her, just this once.

He is silent as he carefully removes the plates, one by one. And when his gaze falls on the long, white scars on her neck, his jaw clenches. He remembers those scars as well as she does. He was there when those monsters had her fight a bear with a wooden sword for their own entertainment. That was the first time in years he had put his life at risk for someone who wasn’t a member of his family. His only regret is that he hasn’t slaughtered every one of the bastards who dared to hurt her.

He freezes, his fingers stuck in mid-air and an incredulous look on his face. How stupid must he be? He was really about to caress her scars... He mentally curses himself and resumes his task, wondering what might have possessed him to such a gesture. 

Deep down, he already knows it: part of him almost feels as if he could erase those hideous marks and the memories they hold with just his touch. Jaime shakes his head at his own idiocy. He doesn’t know how  _right_  he is.

“How did you find me, anyway?” she asks bluntly, unaware of his inner turmoil.

Jaime shrugs. “I was looking for a quiet room to rest, just like you.” He cannot exactly admit that he searched through a maze of rooms to find her, all because he was worried about her.

There’s a loud, metallic clang when the pauldron hits the ground, heavy and sticky from her blood. Jaime hisses. The wound is deeper than he had imagined. He can almost feel the pain it must be causing her, and it scares him.

She knows what he’s going to say from the moment he opens his mouth. “You should show this to the Maester.”

“I’m  _fine_.”

So stubborn. Always  _so fucking stubborn_. But then again, that’s why he likes her in the first place. That, and the fact that she makes him want to be good. He’s a better man because of her.

He stares back at her for a moment, then he chuckles, knowing that arguing with Brienne of Tarth is a lost cause. “Fine then. Let me at least clean it up. And tomorrow, once you’re rested, you’ll have someone patch you up.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer as he gets up to find some clean water and starts mending her wound. 

Brienne studies him with a curious expression on her face. His touch feels nothing like she expected. His hands are the hands of a warrior, all calloused fingers and cold steel against her body. And yet he’s treating her with such care, his touch ghosting over her bare skin, lingering where it hurts the most and soothing her pain with nothing but tenderness and concern. 

She’s not used to this sensation. It’s overwhelming, and she has to look away to hide the subtle flush on her cheeks.

A soft murmur leaves her lips, and he barely hears it over the silence.

“ _Thank you._ ”

He glances at her. “What for? As I recall, you saved my life several times tonight.”

“So did you.” 

There’s a hint of a smile in her eyes as she replies. Or maybe it’s just a trick of the light that makes them gleam. Either way, Jaime feels his chest warming up, and it seems that all the weariness and the cold from the battle had disappeared from his bones.

He doesn’t reply, though. He wouldn’t know what to say, anyway. There are so many things he should thank her for, a lifetime wouldn’t be long enough. If he had the courage, he would thank her for vouching for him. She was the first to see something good in him. The first person he’s ever trusted to see his real self. But most of all, he wants to thank her for showing him what love ⎼ the  _real_ kind, that pure and selfless affection ⎼  _truly_ is.

When he’s done bandaging her, he sits next to her, on the floor, their heads so close they can feel each other breathing. The last time they were so close, it was back at Harrenhal, remembers Jaime.

“ _We won,_ ” he sighs, and as she drifts off Brienne feels like he’s not just talking about the battle.

They fell asleep like that, limbs against limbs, both of them foolish enough not to realize that their hearts are beating for each other.

When the sun wakes Jaime up and he sees Brienne still wrapped in a peaceful slumber, with her messy blond hair falling on her fair eyelids and her head on his shoulder, he doesn’t move a muscle. He just sits there, ever so still, guarding his love.

Today, she shall rest. Maybe this time  _she_ ’ll dream about  _him_ … Jaime smiles at the idea. He won’t let anyone wake her up,  _not even the sun_. 


End file.
